X
by darkangel38
Summary: Full on Chandler story. Hurts his back, needs some pills. What the hell kind of pills did he get?
1. Default Chapter

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Title: X Author: darkangel38 (dancingchickensshaw.ca) Note: Yes ANOTHER story from me, even though I have like 101 on the go. Just had to start another one. I hope you guy's like it. Set in Season 8. M/C married, R/R not together and so on. Review if you like :)  
  
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It had been dumb. A stupid idea really. Joey's great idea one afternoon when the two had been sitting around deciding how to kill time. Joe had thought it would be fun to peek into that clear window above his apartment door and make faces at anybody who lurked in the hallway. Not huge entertainment for Chandler, but at the time he figured he owed it to Joe since he had recently married Monica and moved out. And of course standing on the foozeball table hadn't seemed worth it to Joey, so the only thing left had been the padded stools placed behind the counter.  
  
Chandler had stepped up to the plate after Joey had expressed his concerns of injuring himself standing on something so unstable (in Joey language, "Duuuuuude.")  
  
So Chandler had climbed up so he was standing on both feet on the stool thinking that it couldn't be worse than Ultimate Fireball. That was before somebody had decided to enter the apartment at that very moment; the glass above the door had been too foggy to really see anything. The door had nudged the stool and Chandler had spiraled to his bloody death onto the hardwood floor. Okay, so he didn't die. And there was no blood. But it had still hurt like a bitch.  
  
The culprit behind the door had been Phoebe and she had screamed and cursed her dead grandmother directly afterwards. Chandler had been okay with a hand up and an apology from Joe. Somehow his back had been hurt of twisted in the small crash but he hadn't thought that the dull ache would last for long.  
  
But it had lasted an annoying two weeks and that's when Monica had made him drop by the Doctor after work to pick up anything to get rid of his excuse on why he couldn't help clean the apartment ever.  
  
He entered the apartment in the late afternoon holding a small white paper bag from a clinic down the street, containing an orange cannister of white pills and a printed out pink piece of paper with instructions of when to take the pills and how to get the prescription refilled.  
  
Monica hadn't arrived home from the restaurant yet, so he set down his briefcase and keys on the kitchen table and opened the little white bag, pulling out the pills and instructions.  
  
"Take one every six hours with water. Discontinue use if death occurs," Chandler read out loud from the pink slip from inside the bag. "If death occurs? Is that something they should be telling their patients? How can you continue to take pills after your dead anyway?" He asked the empty apartment. "And why am I talking to myself?" he asked the apartment again and waited for a response.  
  
The refrigerator whirred.  
  
Chandler shrugged off his suit jaket carefully and swung it over a chair, making a note to put it away properly before Mon got home. He took a tall glass from the cupboard on the left and filled it halfway with water. He quickly took one of the pills and made a 'bleh' face at the bitter taste the white pill left on his tongue, even though it had almost been a completely clean swallow. He dumped the rest of the water back into the sink, thinking it now tasted like the pill and slowly made his way to the couch. He picked up the remote that was neatly laid out on a stack of magazines and relaxed to a laying position facing the tv.  
  
If Chandler would have been paying attention, he would have questioned the 'one' pill every six hours. But he was just satisified enough that he had gotten through the uncomfortable exam (which only had included a few questions from the Doc) and that his back was about to be cured. Work was a bitch. It was hard to get any actual work done. Even though he had a nice chair, leaning back and feet up on the desk was the most comfortable, but hard to use the computer that way without looking like he was having "cyber relations" with an internet nerd. The little white pills were going to bring back the 'old' Chandler, not the Chandler who walked around like he was 80 years old.  
  
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That black dot. What was that? A bug?  
  
Chandler sat on the couch, arms draped over his knees, tie loosened around his neck, blue dress sleeved rolled up. He squinted at the black dot and waited for it to move. Then it would most certainly be a bug. Because nothing else would move right? It was just sitting against the purple wall, only speck that could be seen.  
  
He sat up straight, back pain totally gone, engrossed and fascinated by the black splotch. Waiting for it to... move. Just once. So he could be satisfied that he had identified what it was. Why didn't he just stand up and get a closer look?  
  
Couldn't. Too hooked from his position on the couch. As if he was locked in cement in that very position. Unblinking, eyes almost twitching, just intrigued by the dot.  
  
Wait.. It moved! Or did it?  
  
He set landmarks and did math in his had as to where the dot was originally and where it would have moved to. It didn't move any further, it seemed to just move 'within itself'...  
  
Even more intrigued about finding out how that was even possible, he leaned closer, but yet didn't move one single inch at all. His 'mind' zoomed ahead a bit. His brain did more math and calculations turning the entire wall into a grid with X and Y coordinates, as he waited for the dot to move into a fresh square.  
  
It didn't, but continued to morph and transfer within itself. Chandler's eyes blurred and the apartment disappeared and all he could see was the dot. Large now, taunting him. Laughing as it turned all sorts of rainbow colors, moving so much, yet NOT MOVING at all!  
  
He was hooked on the spot which he was sure was some kind of alien bug, that he didn't even notice Monica slip into the apartment, call out, "Hi Sweetie!" brightly, take off her coat and go over to him to shake his shoulder.  
  
Her hand on his right shoulder burned and his mind snapped back. The dot disappeared along with the white chalk grid his mind had created. Able to move again by his own will, he blinked deeply and rubbed his eyes which he hadn't even noticed had been watering due to excessive staring.  
  
"Sweetie, what were you looking at?" Monica asked and smiled.  
  
Chandler looked back at the wall and started to point.  
  
"That...black thing-"  
  
Monica frantically looked at the wall wondering how the hell some 'black thing' got there.  
  
"Chandler, there's no black thing," she said looking back at him.  
  
He searched the wall still seated on the couch.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"It moved! It moved and I missed it" Chandler threw his arm out toward the wall.  
  
"Honey, are you okay?" Monica sat down beside him.  
  
Chandler didn't answer and stared at the wall. 


	2. Ch 2

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X  
  
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Drip.. drip.. drip.. drip.. pirD..pirD. Chandler sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor, arms folded ontop of the tub, his chin resting on his forearms. He watched the faucet as it slowly dripped water, and even reversed and took the water back.  
  
Silence.  
  
Except for the steady drip that thumped through his head like a heart beat.  
  
After breaking from his 'bug' trance on the couch, he had acknowledged Monica's existence, assured her that he was perfectly fine and that the doctor had been worth it, as the pain in his back had magically disappeared. She had accepted that with a smile and had gone about her own business, beginning to prepare dinner. Chandler had told her he was going to have a quick shower and then the two would sit down to eat.  
  
He had been fine until the bathroom door had been locked. His brain began to over stimulate once more and the dripping had intrigued him. He hadn't even fully realized what he was doing, sitting down and sinking his chin to his arms. The faucet was crying. Silent tears that wouldn't stop leaking.  
  
His eyes looked downward at where the drops were falling.  
  
Happiness - splatter.  
  
Love - splatter.  
  
Pain - splatter.  
  
Death... - spllllattter.  
  
A drop stopped in midarir and hung, suspended in space. He studied it quizzically.  
  
"Chandler! Why isn't the water running?!" Monica called out from beyond the washroom door. He heard her but didn't answer. The drop continued to fall at the sound of her voice as if reality had been brought back. He moved his eyes up to the faucet handles and they turned and water spilled out and into the tub.  
  
Chandler was confused. He blinked. No water, and no drops even. He rubbed his eyes again.  
  
"Chandler?" She was right outside the door now. He turned his brain inside out searching for a believable excuse.  
  
"Uh, was just pretending I was Superman in front of the mirror," Chandler called back.  
  
"Again?" Monica laughed and then was back to the kitchen.  
  
Chandler slowly stood up and then had a wild dizzy spell. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the spinning and used the side of the sink for balance.  
  
Once the spell had passed, he started the water - for real- and took the shower.  
  
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Dinner smelled.. nauseating. Monica was a fantastic chef of course, but Chandler just wasn't in the mood for spaghetti and meatballs. He just assumed it was one of those side effects they always blabbed through really fast on drug commercials,  
  
"Ask your doctor if Zoloft is right for you.. Side effects may include: dry mouth, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, mood swings, depression, drowsiness, frequent urination, loss of appettite, migraines, psychoticness, genital herpes and warts, kidney, liver, heart and brain failure, and death."  
  
Chandler didn't think anything of it. It was either his turning stomach of his broken back. He could handle a little extra pain for the gain.  
  
"Seriously Mon, It's not your meatballs. I would rip out my eyeballs with a rusty fork and then slooowwyly pull myself along the floor, begging.. and pleading.. for just ONE -teeny tiny little- meatball-"  
  
"Are we done? Or should I sit down for this?" Monica joked and started to pull one of the kitchen chairs out.  
  
"Okay, okay. I need professional help," Chandler said as if he was admitting the hardest thing in the world. Monica smiled and walked over to him, putting her right hand on his chest and wrapping her left around his back.  
  
"You're in luck. Dr. Monica is free alll night long," she grinned up at him with that seductive smile of hers.  
  
"Hmm really.. Well I know I had - HAVE- this, oooh pain in my-" Chandler went to touch his back and act in pain even though it had completely disappeared.  
  
Monica's smile widened.  
  
"In that case.. I'll be right back," she tapped his once lightly on the chest and escaped from his arms to retreat to their bedroom for a moment.  
  
Chandler ran both hands roughly through his hair trying to 'feel normal'. He still felt a tad sick, still smelling the food. He walked around to the couch and collapsed down onto the middle cushion.  
  
Impulsively, he looked back at the same section of wall that had had the black dot earlier.  
  
It was there.  
  
In the exact same place, unmoving, yet moving. His eyes began to blur as the staring started up again, but he blinked hard and looked at the section of wall on the right side of the tv.  
  
There was a second dot. A second dot?! Or was it the same dot and it had somehow burned permanently into his retinas and it would forever haunt his vision where ever he looked. The dot taunting him on it's size and shape. Always that so he could just see it, but never know exactly what it was. Just taunting him over and over and over.  
  
Chandler shut his eyes and there was black for a second and then exploding fireworks of colors. Dots. All over the place.  
  
He instantly fell asleep.  
  
Monica came out of the room a moment later, wearing Chandler's favorite lingerie and first saw him sprawled out on the couch snoring away in a deep slumber. She felt a tinge of disappointment, but let him be and then got quite excited over the fact that now she would be able to clean the entire kitchen without any weird looks. Maybe she would even pull out the brand new rubber gloves she had purchased for such an occasion.  
  
The spaghetti leftovers she would bring over to Joey's. He was Italian after all.  
  
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It seemed like years that Chandler sat staring at the mysterious black thing in his mind, rotating and molding itself in his dream, but in fact it had only been a few hours. Immediately, the dot disappeared and his dream was black. So black, that he didn't even know if he was still 'dreaming' or not because pure black usually wasn't considered a dream.  
  
His eyes snapped open. He was on the floor. Well, half on the floor. His legs were still relatively on the couch, but his entire lower body was on the floor before the coffee table. That was the first thing he realized and then it was that the pain in his back had returned. The twisted position he was in didn't help any either.  
  
Not yet knowing the time or where Mon was, Chandler let his legs fall to the ground so it would be easier to get up and get that pill.  
  
He mumbled out something out something and used his upper body strength to get up when the apartment door burst open and Ross and Rachel entered followed by an excited Joey.  
  
"Did you guys see that alien kill that hot girl? Why did he kill the hot girl? WHO WOULD KILL A HOT GIRL?" Joey stopped, and all three paused just beyond the door, looking down at Chandler who was still laying on the floor.  
  
Chandler looked up at them with wide eyes and then looked behind him.  
  
"Monica's got me on lint duty," he answered and started to pick non- existent lint from a nearby carpet.  
  
All three of them at the door paused for a second later and then quickly resumed what they were doing, knowing that Chandler's story could certainly be plausible.  
  
"Rach, do you want something to drink?" Ross opened the fridge and stuck his head inside.  
  
As Rachel answered, "sure" and put her purse down on the kitchen table, Joey went on about the hot girl.  
  
"Hot girl did not deserve to die!" he proclaimed and stuck his finger in the air.  
  
"Sure Joe," Ross took out two diet cokes and handed one to Rachel who was walking over to the arm chair next to the couch.  
  
Monica emerged from the bedroom then, back in regular clothes.  
  
"Oh, you're up, it's about time," she told Chandler as soon as he stood up fully. Lint duty could wait.  
  
Ross and Monica greeted eachother and Ross took the liberty to take the seat on the couch closest to Rachel's chair.  
  
"That movie was horrible, why'd you drag me there?" Rachel asked Ross and put his open coke down on the coffee table overtop of a coaster. Before Ross could even answer, Joey barked out again from behind the couch, "Why did hot girl have to die?!"  
  
Chandler smirked at Joey's agonizing emotion to the movie that he had been to and walked into the kitchen to grab another pill since it had been roughly six hours.  
  
"How's the back, sweetie?" Monica asked him quietly as he found the pill cannister and opened the 'child proof' lid.  
  
"Nothing these magic super pills won't take care of," he answered with a small smile and reached for a glass to fill with water.  
  
Monica hoovered close to him again, hand on his arm.  
  
"You know, Dr. Monica's office doesn't close for another couple hours.." she hinted.  
  
Chandler took the pill quickly and then kissed her forehead.  
  
"I think I may have to take an emergency stop at your office in about an hour," he grinned.  
  
"Yes!" Monica cheered.  
  
They both walked back to the living room.  
  
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After that hour had passed, nobody had left the apartment and Monica hadn't even noticed the time. Chandler sat on the far right end of the couch, right arm on the armrest, staring straight ahead.  
  
The dot had completely disappeared this time (yes he had looked), but now there was.. this feeling. It was indescribable. Chandler turned his eyes down to the coffee table and watched Ross' half empty coke can. It was vibrating.  
  
Maybe not so much 'vibrating'.. But it kept moving as if Godzilla was stomping his way through New York City every few seconds, getting close and closer.  
  
He turned his head an inch to the left so his eyes were not bleeding from the strain and continued to watch the 'haunted' coke can bounce. Every bounce got bigger and threatened to tip. Mon would have a literal heart attack if the coke spilled all over the coffee table, soaking the magazines.  
  
"Yeah, so the kid told me if I didn't give him an A in my class, he would spread around that I'm gay."  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
Chandler's attention went to Mon, Ross and Rahcel for a second, who were engrossed in Ross' story, oblivious to the sugary mayhem that was about to happen.  
  
He looked back down at the coke can; it was now off the coaster. Nobody had touched it. What the hell?  
  
The can started to rotate in circles on the bottom, ready to spill. Chandler clenched the edge of the couch wondering what the hell was going on. How did nobody else see this? Was he doing this with his mind? He didn't look away.  
  
The soda can tipped on one end directly over a newspaper and stopped, again, suspended in space. He swallowed and blinked, feeling that his eyes would bug out from his head.  
  
When he opened them again and the soda can crashed on it's side, spilling the brown liquid all over the table surface, soaking all the magazines and papers, then started to drip down and off the table to the floor.  
  
Chandler ripped himself away from the couch and stood up frantically, pointing at the table in horror. Not just at the fact that there was a mess, but that no physical person had moved the can themself.  
  
The group stopped talking and looked up at him like he was insane.  
  
"What?" Ross asked and looked at the table over the mess. "What's wrong?"  
  
Now they were all just concerned.  
  
Chandler rubbed his eyes and ran his hands through his now sweaty hair. He looked back at the table.  
  
Nothing.  
  
No spill, no tipped coke can. Everything was fine.  
  
They all waited for him to speak. Monica stood up and held his arm.  
  
"What's wrong? You're scaring me-"  
  
"Uh.." He shook out of the trance. "Uh nothing, I just.. need some air." He put his right hand in his pocket and started for the kitchen. If Monica would stop looking at him, he could grab something out of his 'special hiding place'.  
  
"Really, I'm fine, keep talking, I'm just going to get a glass of water first," he assured the group. They seemed unsure but turned back; Monica very reluctant to.  
  
Before ditching out the front door, he swiftly grabbed a half pack of cigarettes hidden behind a small bag of flour, and then left the apartment.  
  
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	3. Ch 3

Thanks everybody for reading and reviewing, I'm going to try to keep this one going and make it as long as I can. :)  
  
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Chandler left the apartment and shut the door and was engulfed by ..silence. Refreshing silence. He felt hotter than usual, as if he were burning from the inside out, inside the apartment and by the end of the hour be a pile of burnt 'spontaneous combustion' ashes sitting on the couch. The hallway was cooler. He sat down on the step outside of the apartment door and leaned back so he was laying down, cigarette pack in his right hand and lighter in his left.  
  
"Miss Bing, you've really outdone yourself this time," he said aloud in an attempted British accent, a horribly attempted British accent. (But no worse than Joey's.)  
  
Chandler looked up at the ceiling and fished out a cigarette, keeping the pack on his chest.  
  
He did realize that Monica could easily come out and catch him smoking, but at that moment he didn't care.  
  
"Why Mistah Bing, whatever are you talking about?" Same British accent, now about three octaves higher, sounding like a transsexual. He stuck the cigarette between his lips, still staring upwards.  
  
"That's not what you told me last night," and back to the manly voice.  
  
He held up the green bic lighter.  
  
"I resent that! This is sexual harassment. I'm going to-" he stopped his Miss. Bing impression in mid-sentence and turned his eyes towards his hand. His thumb rested on the wheel, ready to ignite the small spark that would create a small flame to light his cigarette.  
  
The lighter was warm. Why was the lighter warm? It hadn't been used in weeks. He wasn't sweating 'that much'. Something was wrong. He turned the lighter over in his hand, still looking at it, and his thumb stopped in position at the wheel again. That feeling returned.  
  
He stared at the lighter intensely. It seemed to be glowing..? Or was it vibrating. Chandler sat up to a sitting position.  
  
"What the.." he said out loud. It started to shake violently in his hand like it were a ticking time bomb and would blow up any second.  
  
Chandler turned the lighter over in his hand again and it started to burn his hand. Literally. He shrieked, the cigarette fell from his mouth, and he threw the lighter against a wall in front of him just as his apartment door opened.  
  
Joey stood there, right when the lighter flew past him and hit the wall.  
  
It didn't blow up.  
  
Joey looked at the lighter on the floor and then at Chandler who was staring at it horribly.  
  
"Though I was Monica huh?" he said and shook his head a little bit. In truth, Chandler hadn't even noticed anybody open the door until Joey had said that.  
  
"Huh? Oh yeah," he answered quickly and took the cigarette from his mouth. "What are you doing out here?" Chandler continued.  
  
"Ross is talking about Sea-Monkeys and I didn't feel like talking about Dinosaurs. Besides, Baywatch is on, you coming?" Joey took the few steps to his own apartment door.  
  
"That's okay, you on on without me," Chandler draped his arms over his knees. Now the floor was moving up and down making him nauseous.  
  
Joey stopped and spun around to face him, as if Chandler had just confessed that him and Ross were having a child together. Horrified. Mouth open, he started pointing in horror. "Who are you??"  
  
Chandler rubbed his face with his hands sticking his fingers in his eye sockets. He mumbled something but it didn't come out as English because of his hands.  
  
"My name is Miss. Chanandler Bong," he said through his hands after the mumble in the incredibly high British accent.  
  
Joey raised his eyebrow at the voice, but it wasn't seen by the man sitting on the step in the hallway.  
  
"I am not available to take your call at the moment, but if you leave your name, I'll be sure to get back to you."  
  
Just as Joey was about to say something along the lines of 'what the hell?' another sound came from Chandler.  
  
"Beeeeeeeeep."  
  
"Uhh.." Joey answered unsure of what to say, then he added, "Did the aliens come? Did they probe you??"  
  
Chandler smirked from behind his hands and then removed them, hoping that the floor had stopped vibrating.  
  
It hadn't.  
  
"Nah I'm just tired; I'm going to go to bed." He stood up and then wearily almost fell over like a drunk. Joey caught his right arm to prevent him from falling and looked at him weird again.  
  
"You just run a marathon or what dude?"  
  
"Feels like it."  
  
They went their separate ways. Joe went in his bachelor pad to watch the girls run the beach, and Chandler went in his to announce that he was going to get to bed. He did have work in the morning, after all.  
  
Monica gave him a kiss, told him she'd be in soon and then went back to Chatter with Ross and Rachel about something or other.  
  
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Chandler laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was moving slowly closer to him. Pressing him down like a sandwich. He shut his eyes. He felt drunk, like he was having 'the spins'.  
  
He snapped his eyes open again. He was being watched. By who or what? His eyes glided around the room looking for a hint.  
  
Nothing. Wait..  
  
Holy crap there was a blinking red light. Why was there a blinking red light in his bedroom? Was that a camera?  
  
Holy crap it was. It had to be. What else had a red light like that.  
  
He stopped looking at the light because he knew that whoever was watching him on the other side of the camera would see that he had discovered them and then probably come to kill him.  
  
He looked at the ceiling again too nervous to look back at the red light. It was like an evil eye. I was like if he dared look at the light again it would use its powers to fry out his eyes so he couldn't look -anywhere-.  
  
Chandler risked it, however, and looked back at the light. They probably had a night vision camera so they could see every facial expression.  
  
He threw the blanket over his head even though it was already much too hot. His heart was pounding; it pulsed in his ears like it had done before.  
  
He pulled the blanket off his head. He was burning alive under there. Ignoring the camera for a moment, Chandler sat up and pulled his white t- shirt off his head and threw it down on the floor beside him. He brushed his sweaty hair back and laid back down, blanket up to his waist. He closed his eyes.  
  
There was the red light, now in his mind. The camera was also recording his thoughts!  
  
Chandler kicked the blankets off his legs and sprawled them out so he could cool off.  
  
He opened his eyes again and looked towards the dresser for the light. It was gone.  
  
Good.  
  
He closed his eyes and prepared to sleep.  
  
Maroon. Dark red. Red. Bright red. The light faded in and stayed idle in his mind.  
  
'Stop it!' he screamed in his mind. The light faded and went away. 'Ha!' he screamed in his mind again. Big bad Chandler had scared it away, take that!  
  
He opened his eyes.  
  
The light was back.  
  
"Oh come on!" He sat up quickly and said angrily at the light directly in front of him. How could it magically morph from his bedroom to his mind? Knowing that he was giving an actual reason himself to be murdered by the 'camera people', he laid back down and now seriously tried to sleep, red light or no red light.  
  
Suddenly the bedroom door opened and a dark figure crept around the front of the bed.  
  
He sat up again and pointed at the murderer.  
  
"Oh no you don't!" and the figure was startled.  
  
"Sweetie, it's just me." It was Monica. Not the murderer. They hadn't come for him yet.  
  
He settled back down. The light was still there, watching the whole thing. Maybe they would kill Monica too?  
  
"Who did you expect it to be?" she asked curiously, not moving from the foot of the bed.  
  
He could not reveal what he knew about the murderers.  
  
"Nobody," he answered back.  
  
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	4. Ch 4

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A file was slapped down in front of his face at his desk.  
  
"Bing, I want you to look this over for me. Clark's report. I'm thinking of sending his ass down to the mail basement." Chandler's boss took a minute to laugh, "Throw it back to my secretary with a post-it when you're done."  
  
With hardly even getting a response, he was out the door and Chandler had yet 'another' report to look at. He tossed it ontop of the pile with seemingly fifty other files without even cracking it open. Sometimes being the best was just a curse.  
  
He checked his watch. Only ten o'clock; he was there until five. He stretched and leaned back in his leather chair.  
  
"Ahh.." he groaned and put his right foor up on the corner of his desk. He really didn't feel like working. His head felt so cloudy that he didn't think he could concentrate on numbers if his life depended on it.  
  
Chandler let his head drop back and let his mind wander.  
  
Sounds.. The steady drawl of New York traffic down below. Laughter, coming from down the hall. The whirr of a fan blowing a soft breeze down on his feverish head.  
  
"You're going to die, Chandler Bing."  
  
Chandler almost fell out of his chair at the sound of the raspy voice and accidently kicked over a pencil jar he never used onto the floor, spilling yellow HBs everywhere.  
  
He sat up straight gripping the edge of the desk with both hands. He looked around search for the red light that had haunted him all night long.  
  
There were four now, spread throughout the office.  
  
Four. Why were there four?!  
  
His computer beeped from in front of the him and an error about memory popped up over the eighty page report he was trying to download.  
  
That was the reason. They were invading his computer. The memory error was just a cover. Hacking for details. Bank information. Family information.  
  
He turned his chair towards the computer and pressed 'end' to stop the download. Then he loaded all .txt files into the recycle bin. Then all folders into the bin. Then programs. No murderer bastards were going to find anything now. After basically his whole hard drive was dumped into the recycle bin except for the calculator, he dropped his sweaty face into his hands and rested his elbows on his desk beside his keyboard. What was going on here? His heart was pounding and he had people actually trying to hack into his computer. Or maybe his judgement was just screwed?  
  
That couldn't be it. What he needed was another pill. Stop all the stupid new pain that had developed.  
  
Chandler reached into his coat pocket and took out the container.  
  
One didn't seem to be doing any good, so he decided to take two.  
  
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"Bing! What the hell?" Once again his boss stalked into the office to find Chandler with his leg up on the desk, snoring in his chair, his head resting on his right shoulder. At the sound of the boss, Chandler jumped and then kicked a 'pen' jar off his desk, adding to the pencil mess he had neglected to clean up earlier.  
  
"Why do I keep doing that??" Chandler demanded an answer from the mess of blue and yellow, completely ignoring them man that was clearly talking to him. He pressed his left temple in an attempt to stop a headache and looked up at who was yelling at him now.  
  
He was about to give a lame excuse about why he was sleeping, assuming that's what his boss was barking about, but he was interuppted before he even spoke a word.  
  
"Why did you delete everything? What's wrong with you?" he asked, "We're on a network Bing, you didn't just delete personal porn; people were accessing reports from your computer. Everybody is connected to everybody here." He paused to get an explanation from Chandler.  
  
"Accident, sir," he mumbled back, and stared at one of the red lights from the corner of his eye. They were still watching him. Watching his evey move. Maybe his work was behind all of this..  
  
"Do you at least have backups? Restore system defaults? Something?"  
  
'Like you give a shit, you golf playing bastard,' he envisioned himself responding.  
  
"No, I believe I don't," Chandler cleared his throat and said instead. Were the walls closing in? Felt like it. His tie started to choke his neck. He loosened it a few inches.  
  
His boss grumbled from the door.  
  
Chandler was sure he was in on it.  
  
"I hate to do this Bing, but I'm going to have to send you home early today. Get your head together.. or something," and then he was out the door.  
  
Chandler groaned and clawed at his eyes and hair. He'd like for him to go home wouldn't he. He was smart enough to figure out his plan. His boss wanted him dead. Probably had five guys with boards with nails in them waiting in his apartment right then just waiting for him to stroll through the door licking an icecream cone and holding a red balloon.  
  
Screw that.  
  
He stood up slowly from his desk chair, loosened his tie a little more and walked out of his office.  
  
They couldn't kill him on the streets of New York in public places. Now that would just be stupid.  
  
------------------------------------------  
  
The cabbies were in on it. One big "cabbie" club that met on Sunday nights when business was slow and sat in a warehouse basement on crates smoking cigars and drinking beer. Just discussing plans to kill Chandler. Ideas to run him down with a cab, to kidnap him and stab him up in the woods, cut off his fingers one by one with a butter knife until he was screaming to be dead. The next cab he would get into probably would be an old police car painted yellow and have the back doors locked from the outside. Then they'd haul him out to Brooklyn where bodies were never found..  
  
He opted to not take a cab home.  
  
Maybe the walk would do him good anyway. Follow his boss' instructions and get his head together. His apartment was only about a hundred blocks away. No one would expect him home early so he didn't have to worry about any of that.  
  
It was a crisp morning turning to afternoon and the sun was out. He probably should have taken his briefcase out of the office, but it wasn't as if he had 'homework' or anything. Most of the time he had little army men in there anyways, that would fight to the death over a bunch of files.  
  
A short woman with a purse the size of a suitcase plowed past Chandler and smashed into his left arm that was sitting in his deep trench. He was surprised at the impact and lost his footing a bit, then turned to look at the woman, expecting some sort of apology. He stopped and waited.  
  
She stalked away looking like she was going to be late for a shoe sale (even though she probably couldn't even fit into the knee high boots due to her obese ankles).  
  
"You bumped my shoulder, you know!" he called out to her and she burned holes in the sidewalk as she walked away.  
  
Other people walking the sidewalks glanced at him as they passed.  
  
"That wasn't very friendly!" he called out again, louder, as she was disappearing into the crowd. "I know where you live!" Chandler added.  
  
"Old," he then insulted her under his breath and turned to continue walking along his merry way on a never ending New York street.  
  
His back pain was absolutely gone and if it wasn't for his weird side effects, he'd be skipping down the street.  
  
Chandler turned a corner, now about 99 blocks from home and something hit him. Not literally, but some sort of force. His heart rate picked up. He felt incredibly hot and needed to tear off his jacket. His head was spinning at the world before him, turning into a brown tint of sticky molasses. Sound was long and deep, and his heart thumped in his ears.  
  
He found a park bench and took a quick seat knowing if he didn't let this thing ride out, his knees would buckle or he'd start crashing into people. Not something he wanted to get into on New York streets.  
  
An old man sat beside him, there before Chandler had taken a seat. The man's grey hair was sticking up every which way, and he was dressed in navy blue ripped sweat pants and an open faded jean jacket over a dirty white t- shirt.  
  
The man sat with his legs wide open, and his eyes turned over to Chandler who took a breath and put his face into his hands.  
  
Colors. Ever color in the crayon box burned through his mind one after another and the dirty homeless man sitting beside him, he didn't even notice.  
  
Nor did he notice the man pull out a dollar bill, probably his booze money for the night, and rest the crinkled paper on Chandler's knee. The man got up and walked away to find a decent dumpster to scrap for food.  
  
Chandler remained on the bench unaware of surroundings for the time being. 


	5. Ch 5

Thanks so much for the reviews! I really appreciate them. And on with the next part..

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"Hey."

A voice from beyond. Poking. Ouch. Light. Bright, burning light starting his retinas on fire from beneath his eyelids.

Chandler squinted his eyes after waking up from what felt like a short nap. A light was directly in his eyes, and it wasn't the sun.

Another poke in the ribs.

"Wake up," the voice said again. Chandler brought his hand up to shield the light and rubbed his eyes with the other. The light was being produced by a tiny flashlight. The light moved away.

A cop stood there, dressed all in black uniform complete with the hat, the beating stick he had been poking with and the tiny black flashlight. He turned it off.

"What are you doing here, have no place to go, do ya?" The cop grinned as if he won brownie points for hauling in a bum.

"What? No, I'm not homeless!" Chandler protested and was now fully awake. What an insult.. And where the hell was he? He straightened up a bit and noticed he was still on the park bench he had sat on 2 minutes ago. He realized it hadn't been 2 minutes however, more like 15 hours. Couldn't be.

"Not homeless huh? What's all this then?" The cop stepped back and motioned towards the lower half of the Chandler's body. Chandler looked down to find crumpled up bills and change surrounding his feet. So people had thrown money at him thinking he was a bum. Unbelievable.

"I know this looks bad, but I just fell asleep, honest." Chandler sat up straighter and looked around for his jacket. Of course it was gone.

"Let me see some identification," the cop put his hands to his belted hips. Chandler couldn't help but notice the holstered pistol by his hand.

He started to pat his pants down for his wallet.. then suddenly remembered that it had been in his trench, due to the fact that he simply hated wearing it in the back pocket of his dress pants. His keys had been in his other coat pocket. Now, he might as well have be naked.

"Identification, sir?" The cop asked again.

"You know.. my wallet and keys were in my jacket which were actually stolen because I just have to be living in this stupid city," Chandler grumbled. Of course the cop thought he was making up stories.

His stupid back pain was back too and worse than ever. He never knew just a simple fall could hurt so bad. He needed to get home to tak another pill. His body screamed for it.

A least he felt rested!

Ha.

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Chandler slowly walked the stairs up to the apartment and slowly was right. Each step made him wince and by the time he got to the top floor he was huffing and puffing.

The cop had let him off, assuming that because of his dressy attire, that he had just lost his job and had truly just fallen asleep on a park bench. Chandler had been grateful for that. He didn't think he looked like a trouble maker anyway.

Finally he reached the apartment door, and before entering, checked his watch. Near 3:00am. How the hell was he going to come up with a story in just a few seconds to tell Monica?

Traffic was bad.... For like 14 hours?

Okay. He was cornered on the way home and someone tried to mug him-

Nah, he -

The apartment door swung open and Monica stood there looking worried, scared and angry all at the same time.

Chandler stood there dumbfounded, tie now hanging entirly around his neck, hair in disarray. He imagined what he must of looked like to her.

"Where the hell have you been?!" she shrieked, still fully clothed despite the hour. He did half expect her to be up and waiting though.

Chandler sighed not wanting to get into anything that wasn't there and walked into the apartment past her.

"I was out," he responded and went to the cupboard by the sink to get his pills to calm down his back.

He knew that saying he was 'out' was probably not the best answer right now. To be honest, it probably looked like he had just gotten home from a 5 hour romp with a blonde bimbo.

" 'Out'? You were 'out'? Care to tell me where 'out' was?" She shut the door and walked into the kitchen furter. "I thought you were dead!" she added.

"Well, I did have my coat, keys, and wallet stolen," he said while dumping two pills into his palm and closing the bottle.

"How did that happen?"

Chandler faced her with a look on his face.

"It's New York!"

Monica paused for a minute. Chandler turned back to the sink and took down a glass for some water.

"Did you talk to the police?" she asked.

Chandler shoved the pills in his mouth and took a long gulp of water.

"Oh I talked to the police all right.." he muttered and put the glass down in the sink.

Silence.

"Are you cheating on me?" she suddenly asked from behind him.

Chandler turned to look at her baffled.

"What? No!"

Monica crossed her arms and looked to the side. Chandler placed both hands around her upper arms.

"Honey.. I know I haven't been around much lately, but it's because of this stupid back thing. I promise once this is all gone, you'll have your snuggle bunny back," Chandler smiled.

She looked back at him. That look. He was forgiven. Thank God.

"Well I have missed my snuggle bunny..."

Chandler gave her a long kiss on the forehead.


	6. Ch 6

Neo-moose: If you read this, oh damn I didn't even think of the connection until now. It was so obvious! So I scrapped about 4 pages of the story and got rid of all that. Thanks for the heads up!

--I mean to make these chapters longer, but I wanted to get rid of those 2 chapters and get the story back on track, so here's a little fill. I'm still working out material too. R/R please :)

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He awoke the following morning not from the bright warm sunbeams lightly caressing his face.. but from the sound of rain slamming down onto the roads below and the loud annoyance generally referred to as the modern car alarm beeping throughout the morning. Chandler groaned and turned his head to the right side. He squinted his eyes open to check the time on the alarm clock. It was already after eight.

Freaked out, he scrambled up to a seated position and groped his hand around on the nightstand for his glasses to make sure the time was right. (Even though he should have come to that conclusion noticing that he was alone in the bed.)

"Great.." Chandler mumbled and pushed the covers aside and stood up quickly. 'If I jump in the shower now, I could stay in there for 5.6 minutes, grab a piece of bread for breakfast...-' his thoughts were cut off when his back twisted in pain and he sat back down on the bed.

"Why am I teased like this.." he asked to no one in particular referring to his quite enjoyable sleep.

Deciding he would put a few pills in his stomach before getting ready to start the day, he stood up slowly - with one hand resting at his back Granpa style - and shuffled his was out of the bedroom.

"Okay! We got french toast, bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, sunny side up eggs, a french omelette. triangle toast - buttered and unbuttered - fresh coffee, fresh orange juice - and a bowl of cheerios!" Monica rushed around the kitchen putting so many plates on the small kitchen table that it was almost full. "I didn't know what you felt like having this morning, so I made everything!" she continued in a mad Monica rush.

Chandler shuffled into the kitchen forgetting about work. He raised his eyebrows at all the food but didn't have the heart to tell her that he wasn't hungry and would just settle for that one lone cup of coffee.

"Look great Mon," he smiled and gave her a quick kiss before going for the cupboard and his medication.

"How's your back?" she questioned. Chandler took down the pill bottle and found that there was only one pill left at the bottom. He popped the lid and dumped the pill into his hand.

"Uh, better," he lied and popped the pill into his mouth.

"Just in case, I already called your work and said that you won't be in today. They said take as much time as you need-" Monica paused for a breath. Chandler went to the cup of coffee to wash down the pill. "-Anyway, I'm so sorry I've got to leave so early, but Bob called me from the restaurant-"

"Is Bob the one with the saliva problem?"

"No, that's Kevin. But I'll be home as soon as I can, okay?"

"Sure," Chandler smiled again, kind of glad that the phonecall to work had already been taken care of.

She leaned in for another quick kiss, threw on her jacket, grabbed her purse, said a quick goodbye and was out the door.

Silence. Chandler looked down at all the food sitting before him.

"Okay, where's the food!"

The apartment door slammed open and Joey stood there, arms open, following his incredible sense of smell. Chandler smirked and slowly sat down on the chair closest to the refrigerator next to the coffee.

"It's all yours, Joe."

Joey rubbed his hands together and took a seat, grabbing a fork from the table.

Chandler sat there quietly and watched his best friend shovel fresh eggs into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in a month. Joey noticed after a few minutes and held up his plate to Chandler as if to ask, 'want some?' Chandler waved it away and curled his hand around the white mug of coffee.

"Hey, don't you have work or something?" Joey suddenly asked with a mouthful of bacon.

"Nah, my boss thinks I'm weird," Chandler chuckled and rested his head on his forearm. The pill was already working; the speed was amazing. The dizzy feeling started, but not as strong just because he had only taken one pill. He made a note to get his prescription refilled as per the instructions he had been given the first time. He would have to do that before the current pill ran out..

"You okay man?" Joey asked and momentarily stopped eating. Chandler ignored the question and stood up slowly.

"I'm going to go jump in the shower, you eat all you want here."

Joey watched him uncertainly as his friend walked off to the bathroom.

Chandler so serious? Never.

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End file.
